


Outsider

by Art3misiA



Series: Love Fest 2021 works [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Dating activity - hugging & kissing only, Fairest of the Rare's Love Fest 2021, M/M, No sex involved, Rejection, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Tom's backstory reimagined, Unhappy Ending, teenage relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: For a short while, Tom knew happiness - or at least he thought he did. But then he realised what a fool he'd been, and vowed never to repeat his error.
Relationships: Rubeus Hagrid/Tom Riddle
Series: Love Fest 2021 works [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152686
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4
Collections: Love Fest 2021





	Outsider

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bionically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionically/gifts).



> In response to the prompt, "Hagrid and Tom, Hogwarts Era."
> 
> This goes dark, as you can imagine! And shout at me in the comments if you must, I deserve it.
> 
> It's unbetaed (and also very late at night over here, haha!), so please forgive any errors I've missed.
> 
> Written for Fairest of The Rare's Love Fest 2021  
> #TeamCass

* * *

  
Tom had always felt like he didn’t quite belong.

Even after Professor Dumbledore arrived at the orphanage, talking of wizards, magic, and a place called Hogwarts - granting him an understanding of his heritage and why he could make things happen - and whisked him away to the wizarding school, he still felt like an interloper, tolerated but not entirely welcome.

It didn’t help that the old man had watched him like a hawk ever since he arrived at Hogwarts. For some reason that Tom didn’t entirely understand, the professor seemed to dislike him. Even their first meeting hadn’t gone well. Somehow, Dumbledore _knew_ that Tom routinely stole from the other children and concealed the treasures in his cupboard. He didn’t even really want the things he took, despite what the older man seemed to think. He’d only done it because the others bullied him constantly, and he was too small to be able to fight back.

But Dumbledore’s response had been to use magic to set Tom’s cupboard on fire. His eleven year old self was terrified; thinking that surely they would both burn. It had taken him some time to realise that the fire was just an illusion - magic. It was one of the first lessons he learned about the world he was being introduced to: Magic was _power._ Magic could be used to dominate, to incite fear, to intimidate. He filed that information away for later.

After he’d gotten over the shock caused by the fire trick, he had - foolishly, he later realised - confessed to his new mentor that he could talk to snakes, assuming it must be something magical people could do.

Evidently, it was _not_ something magical people could do. Dumbledore tried to conceal it, but Tom knew what the man was thinking. That he was abnormal. A _freak._ It was what the other children called him. His heart sank. He was sure this was the moment he would be told that there had been some sort of mistake; that he didn’t actually belong in the magical world after all. Now Dumbledore would get up, leave, and never return. He, Tom, would be stuck in this hellhole forever.

To his surprise and relief, however, Dumbledore had not rejected him at that moment. Instead, he smiled, patted Tom on the shoulder, and flicked his wrist. Tom’s few belongings and items of clothing flew into a small, battered trunk. He watched in amazement and awe at the display. 

“Sir - will I be able to do that one day?” He asked tentatively.

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said noncommittally. “Wandless and wordless magic are both very advanced, young Mister Riddle. Very few wizards ever manage it.”

The tone Dumbledore used seemed to imply that he didn’t think Tom, in particular, would ever manage such a feat. Privately, he vowed to try his hardest to master this advanced magic, to prove he was worthy of his heritage. If he could one day be as powerful as this man—

“Come along now, Mister Riddle. It’s time to go,” Dumbledore said, pulling the boy out of his musings. As they reached the door, he paused and said, “May I call you Tom?”

Tom nodded slowly. In actual fact, he had minded quite a bit that Dumbledore was being so familiar, but he didn’t dare say so. Instead, he tried to smile and said, “Of course, Sir.”

“Excellent.” Dumbledore had picked up Tom’s trunk, ushered the young boy out of the room, and out of the first chapter of his life.  
  


* * *

 **_  
_** **_1940_ **

At the start of Tom’s third year, the entire school gaped when the first years entered the Great Hall. One boy stood twice as high as the tallest in the group; in fact, he was taller even than most of the seventh year boys. The whispers and sniggers started immediately - most of the latter coming from his Slytherin housemates. 

He heard the whispers of _‘freak!’_ and _‘half-breed!’_ as the new students were lined up and the sorting began. Though he smirked and nodded and nudged in all the right places, privately he felt a spark of anger. The words they were using brought back his own haunted memories; ones he had desperately tried to forget ever since he’d arrived at the school.

The old Tom - the Muggle part - he considered to be dead and gone. He’d worked hard to create a likeable image, and it had paid off. The other students knew he was poor, parentless, and that he spent his summers in a Muggle orphanage, but by using charm and half-truths, he had managed to sway them - and almost all the professors, save for Dumbledore - to his side. He no longer felt like an unwelcome interloper - he had a place among them, even if it was all hinged on the persona he’d forged.

His wand hand itched to curse the ones who were laughing at the hulking, clumsy-looking newcomer. Not because he wished to defend the boy, but because a voice in the back of the head was saying, _They’re laughing at him, but they’re laughing at you, too. They know a freak when they see one, and you’re still a freak, even in the wizarding world._ The rational part of him knew he was safe, that everyone liked him. But still... that small, contemptuous voice whispered to him, making him secretly hate them all.

Tom was unsurprised when the boy - Hagrid, his name was - ended up being sorted into Gryffindor. When he joined his new housemates at their table, he took up half a bench, and it creaked ominously under his weight. “Jus’ call me Hagrid,” he was saying, shaking hands all around. “I much prefer it to Rebeus. Soun’s so formal otherwise.”

Throughout the remainder of the sorting and Headmaster Dippett’s monotonous speech, Tom surreptitiously watched Hagrid, his calculating mind processing the possibilities. Where the others saw an abnormality, Tom saw opportunity. Power was strength, but strength was also power. Hagrid’s size meant he was bound to be unusually strong. He resolved to befriend the boy. With a bit of charm - and some coercion, if necessary - he could become quite the addition to the band of loyal followers Tom intended to eventually collect.  
  


* * *

  
“Hey there, Tom. ‘Ow yer doin’?”

He looked up from the essay he had been working on and smiled. “Hey, Hagrid. What’s new?” 

Hagrid looked around to make sure no one else in the library was within earshot, then whispered, “I’ve been in th’ forest, meetin’ some of the magical creatures, like.”

Tom shook his head indulgently and tried to look stern. “Hagrid, you know the forest is off-limits,” he said quietly. Hagrid looked momentarily abashed at the rebuke, then his face lit up again. “I met th’ centaurs! We ‘ad a good ol’ chat, we did!”

Internally, Tom shuddered. He privately thought centaurs were nasty, filthy things. They were half-human, but not magical, and they lived in the forest like… well, like animals. But, in order to maintain his friendship with Hagrid, he needed to pretend to be interested. 

So, he smiled, put down his quill, and folded his hands together on the table. “Well, it sounds like you should tell me all about your adventure,” he said.

Hagrid beamed, took a seat across from Tom, and began to speak excitedly about his encounter.  
  


* * *

**_  
1942_ **

In Hagrid’s second year, not long after they returned from Christmas break, his father died. 

He was distraught at the loss - the diminutive old man had been his only living relative, his mother having returned to the giant colony when he was a toddler - making him practically an orphan at the age of twelve.

This, Tom also understood. Despite himself, he realised he was beginning to genuinely _like_ Hagrid. He couldn’t explain exactly why, just that there was something about the earnest, kind-hearted boy that spoke to him in a way nobody and nothing else had previously.

Maybe it was because Hagrid was the first person who Tom felt _truly_ liked him. Or maybe it was because they both shared similarities that set them apart from the other students - Tom privately feeling like a freak who didn’t really belong; and Hagrid being considered by others as a freak who didn’t belong. And now… now they were both parentless, all alone in the world. Except for each other.

They were sitting together by the Black Lake, Hagrid sobbing quietly. “Me dad… ‘e was that proud o’ me, gettin’ into Hogwarts. ‘E though’ I migh’, y’know, take more after me mother, tha’ the giant blood migh’ cancel out the magical blood…” He broke down and buried his face in his hands.

Tom patted Hagrid on the back. He had to stretch his arm right up to do it; the other boy had grown enormously over the previous summer and now towered over everyone else in the school, teachers included. “And he’ll continue to be proud of you, Hagrid,” he said, as comfortingly as he could. “You’ll make a great wizard.”

Hagrid blindly reached for Tom’s knee, giving it a pat that might have broken his leg if he hadn’t flexed it at the last moment. “Thank yeh’.... Thank yeh, Tom. Yeh don’ know how much tha’ means t’ me t’ hear yeh say that. Yer a good friend. The bes’.”

It might have been the words Hagrid used; or maybe he just wanted to say something that would distract the other boy from his misery. Either way, in an uncharacteristic lack of self-control and before he realised it, Tom had blurted out a secret he’d only ever told one other person.

“I can talk to snakes.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Tom desperately wished he could snatch them back. He wished he had a time turner so he could go back and stop himself from speaking. He wished the Giant Squid would rise up out of the lake, clutch him in its tentacles, and drag him down to the murky depths.

But it was too late to do anything now, and instead, he stared fearfully at Hagrid. Waiting for the disgust, the shock, the accusations of him being evil and a freak, the declaration that they were no longer friends and he wanted nothing more to do with Tom henceforth. He felt anger rising in his throat, twisting his stomach, as he anticipated the rejection that was about to come.

But it never did. Instead, Hagrid’s eyes widened in amazement, and a grin spread over his face, his tears suddenly forgotten.

“Talk t’ snakes? Can yeh _really?_ Blimey, tha’s incredible! Can yeh show me, some time?”

Tom was so shocked that he momentarily forgot how to speak. “You mean—Hagrid, does it not bother you that I can do that?”

Hagrid frowned at him in confusion. “Why would it? I wish I could talk t’ animals. The conversations we could ‘ave…” he stared dreamily off across the lake, then turned back to Tom. “Can you talk to any other animals?”

Tom shook his head. “No. Just snakes.”

“Blimey,” Hagrid said again, his voice full of admiration. “So you’ll show me, righ’?”

“Of course,” Tom smiled. “But Hagrid - you can’t tell anyone else. Other people… they might not think it as wonderful as you do.”

“But why?” Hagrid said. “It’s so clever.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Tom sighed. “I don’t strictly understand it myself. All I know is, I’ve only ever told one other person before you, and they… reacted unfavourably. I’ve never trusted my secret with anyone since, until now.”

“An’... an’ you trusted me wi’ yer secret? And only me?” said Hagrid. 

“That’s right,” Tom smiled.

Hagrid’s chin wobbled. He burst into tears all over again and embraced Tom, who heard his bones creak. “I’m honoured!” He wailed. “Honoured that yeh think so ‘ighly of me! I’ll keep yer secret an’ never tell a soul, I promise!”

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Tom said. The feel of Hagrid’s powerful grip was comforting, and in yet another uncharacteristic move, he reached out and hugged the other boy back.  
  


* * *

  
As the year rolled on, Tom and Hagrid’s friendship evolved into something deeper.

They were at their usual spot by the Black Lake, sharing a bottle of Firewhisky. Tom had charmed one of the seventh year Slytherins into smuggling it into the castle for him, and now he and Hagrid were enjoying the buzz the liquor gave them. Tom, in particular, was feeling quite relaxed, almost… content. Here, he didn’t have to put on a big show of being the outgoing, affable face he displayed to everyone else. He could just… be.

Well, to a certain extent. He had told Hagrid about his experiences in the Muggle orphanage, of his feelings of not belonging, and his fears of being rejected - of being disliked. But he hadn’t expressed his secret loathing of his Muggle parent, whichever one it had been - surely his mother, because a witch would not die so easily. And yet, he hadn’t been able to find out anything about his father, despite extensively searching for information about his sire.

He shifted on the small stool he’d conjured and laid his head on Hagrid’s huge shoulder. Out here, all his worries and fears, the facade he put on for everyone, even his hate for his Muggle parentage… it all seemed further away out here. Not as important. When he was with Hagrid, he felt normal. Safe. Appreciated.

Hagrid threw his arm around Tom’s shoulders, pulling him in close. Tom looked up at Hagrid as Hagrid looked down. Their eyes met, and something passed between them. For a moment, time stood still. Then Hagrid leaned forward, closing the small gap between them, and gently pressed his lips to Tom’s.

Tom’s eyes widened in surprise, and Hagrid quickly pulled back, dropping his arm and shifting away. He glanced down at his feet and muttered, “Sorry. Don’ know wha’ came over me.”

The ghost of Hagrid’s touch - so gentle, despite his size - haunted Tom’s mouth. With the absence of the other boy’s lips, he felt bereft. So he did the only thing he could think of. He reached out, taking Hagrid’s chin in his hand, and turned his head so they were looking at each other once again. Then he leaned forward and captured Hagrid’s mouth with his own.

* * *

  
Their connection continued to grow over the course of the school year, although they both agreed to keep their deeper relationship quiet. They were both too strange for their liaison to be truly accepted; and besides, they were both boys. While same-sex relationships were not considered immoral or illegal in the wizarding world, as Tom had learned was the case in the Muggle world, they were still not encouraged, either. So, it was safer to keep up the ‘friends’ charade, at least publicly.

They spent as much time as possible sneaking around the castle, trying to find disused classrooms or roomy spaces that would accommodate Hagrid’s bulk. Tom - at that time already a powerful and highly skilled wizard, thanks to his dedication to studying and perfecting all forms of magic - had become very good at using a number of charms and wards to ensure they would not be discovered. It meant they could spend ample time snogging on a conjured couch, or simply snuggling and talking about inconsequential things. 

It was during one of these snuggle and chat sessions that Tom was shocked to realise that he cared deeply for Hagrid. He thought - he couldn’t be sure, as the concept was so entirely foreign to him - that if things continued in this vein, he might even come to love him.

* * *

  
During the summer of 1942, instead of having to go back to that stinking Muggle orphanage, Tom accompanied Hagrid to the small home he’d inherited from his father when he passed away. Over that time he continued to research his history, and finally, he had a breakthrough.

It was with bitter disappointment that he realised he would need to accept that his Muggle parent was his father, a man also named Tom. He was cheered, however, to discover that his middle name - Marvolo - had been the key he’d overlooked all along. 

Marvolo was the name of his maternal grandfather, a Gaunt. They had been a prominent Pureblood family, once upon a time, until inbreeding, madness and greed had seen their line wither away. His mother had been Merope, and she had been in love with Tom’s namesake, despite the fact he was a filthy Muggle.

As Tom continued to research, his feelings of bewilderment and loathing towards both of his parents - and his wider family - intensified. His mother had tried and failed to catch the attention of his father, so she had resorted to a powerful love potion to ensnare him. It was successful, and the two were married.

However, when his mother discovered she was pregnant, she foolishly stopped giving his father the potion, believing that he would truly love her and the child she carried. Instead, he had rejected her most harshly, abandoning her to her fate. 

With her father - Tom’s grandfather - and brother both in Azkaban, Merope had nowhere left to turn. She had eventually given birth to Tom in the very orphanage he had grown up in, dying soon after.

Following the discovery of his true ancestry, a change came over Tom. He found himself angry all the time, with everyone and everything - even Hagrid, despite the fact he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

He would rant and rail about filthy Muggles and how evil they were. “They’re like cattle! Backwards, simple, primitive and violent! They don’t deserve to live!” Hagrid would try and reason with him, but would quickly retreat, hurt and sad, under Tom’s furious retaliation. 

When they returned to Hogwarts in September for the new school year, things had become drastically tense between them. Hagrid would plead with Tom to calm down, to forget about the people who had wronged him, but Tom refused to listen. He spent much of his time in the school library, studying his ancestry even further. 

It was there that he discovered the Gaunts were descended from Salazar Slytherin himself. The house founder had been a known Parselmouth.Tom supposed this was where his hidden talent likely came from. He now knew that he could be a truly powerful wizard - the most powerful ever, perhaps even more powerful than the wizard named Grindelwald who was causing such havoc in Europe. He would rise above it all, take control. Then he could show the world what he was really made of, and send the disgusting Muggles back to the caves where they belonged.  
  


* * *

  
Tom made his way to the classroom where he and Hagrid would always meet. He knew he’d been neglecting the other boy over the last few months; and that things had not been going well between them. But tonight, he was going to reveal everything. He would invite Hagrid to join him as his partner, to be among the first to usher in a brave new world. Tom was certain he would accept, once he worked his charm and convinced Hagrid to see reason.

He swept into the classroom and smiled disarmingly at the one shining beacon in his life. “Hey, you.”

“Don’ ‘hey’ me!” Hagrid snarled, his arms folded across his chest. “I’ve been waitin’ fer yeh for over an hour! Yeh’d think since we haven’ spent any time together for over a week that yeh’d be on time!”

Well, you’ve got Aragog to keep you company, haven’t you?” Tom said, nodding to the large box in the corner. 

Aragog was a baby Acromantula Hagrid had found and adopted as his ‘pet’. Tom couldn’t understand for the life of him why anyone would want to keep a giant spider as a pet, but Hagrid loved the hideous thing - sang to it and everything. Still, Acromantula venom was rare and valuable, so it wasn’t an entirely useless beast - or wouldn’t be, once it had grown.

“Yeh,” Hagrid said heavily, returning to the box and lifting the lid. “But, Tom, look. There’s something I need to talk to yeh ab—”

“You’re right. We need to talk. And I’m ready to tell you everything, Hagrid. I know I’ve been...distant… since we returned to school, but if you’ll let me explain, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“All righ’,” Hagrid said cautiously. “Go on, then.”

So Tom sat across from Hagrid, and talked. He told him about his connection to Slytherin, and his plans for the new world, and the followers he’d already begun to recruit. How they were already proving their loyalty, doing things for him. How he wanted Hagrid to join him.

“You’ll be powerful, respected,” Tom said. “We’ll bring the wizarding world out where it belongs, in the light. And I have given myself a new name - not the one forced upon me by that oozing pustule of a Muggle man - no. It is one that, one day, wizards everywhere will be afraid to speak.”

He withdrew his wand, writing his old name - Tom Marvolo Riddle - in the air in glowing red letters. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he caused the letters to rearrange themselves until they read, _‘I am Lord Voldemort’._

He turned to Hagrid, an expectant smile on his face. “So, you’ll join me, won’t you?” he said.

However, Hagrid was staring at him in horror and...disgust? “Yeh… yeh can’t be serious,” he spluttered. “Tell me yer jokin’, Tom.”

Tom felt a sharp pain in his chest, one he hadn’t expected to ever feel again. It was the feeling of hurt, of rejection. Of being seen as a _freak,_ as someone who didn’t belong. He drew himself up and stared coldly back at Hagrid.

“I never joke. You know that.”

Hagrid shook his head sadly. Fat tears ran silently down his face. “I don’ know who yeh are any more.”

“Is that a no, then?” Tom said. The feeling in his chest had progressed to a cold hand squeezing tightly around his heart. After all this, after everything, his worst nightmare was coming true. The one person he’d cared for was turning his back on him.

“It’s a no,” Hagrid replied. “To yer offer, to us, to everythin’.” He spun and picked up the box containing Aragog, then with a stifled sob, pushed past Tom and out of the classroom.  
  


* * *

  
Over the following weeks and months, Tom let his hate grow unfettered. His anguish at losing Hagrid turned inward until he began to loathe the half giant. He finally saw the other boy for what he was - a dangerous half breed. He couldn’t believe he’d ever _felt_ anything for him, ever shared kisses and caresses. It was enough to make him sick. He decided he had to get rid of Hagrid - but how?

* * *

  
Later that year, Tom learned that Salazar Slytherin had secretly created a web of tunnels beneath the school, and concealed a monster within - one that he alone could control. Tom discovered the entrance and eagerly explored the Chamber of Secrets. The beast was a Basilisk. Finally, his gift of Parseltongue would come in useful! He could use it to control the creature. Slytherin had said the serpent would purge the school of those unworthy to study magic - that is, Mudbloods. Muggleborns. The ones who had powers they did not deserve running through their veins.

So, towards the end of the school year, he released the Basilisk upon the school, where it terrorised the students and petrified several before finally taking a victim. Her name was Myrtle Warren, and she was a snivelling, ugly slip of a girl. With her death, Tom was finally able to create a Horcrux. It was his first step towards immortality, but he would need to make more. He would. There was plenty of time.  
  


* * *

Unfortunately, with the death of the Warren girl, Tom discovered the Board of Governors intended to close the school - perhaps forever. This could not be allowed to happen! He refused to return to that hovel of an orphanage. There was nothing for it - he would have to close the chamber, and find a scapegoat to take the blame. He thought for a while, and then grinned wickedly. He knew just the person to take the fall. Oh, revenge was sweet.  
  


He watched, and waited. Soon enough, he discovered what he needed to know to proceed. Hagrid, the fool, was keeping Aragog down in the dungeons. One night, Tom laid in wait and stopped the boy as he attempted to sneak back to Gryffindor tower.

“...Her parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure the thing that slaughtered their daughter is destroyed.”

“Please—No, Tom—!”

“Don’t call me that!” Tom roared, his wand pointed at Hagrid. “Your spider killed the girl. You’ll be expelled. Hogwarts will remain open, and I’ll never have to return to the orphanage again.”

  
Not long after, Hagrid was indeed expelled, and his wand was snapped. They never did find the spider, and Tom suspected he’d released it into the Forbidden Forest. 

Somehow, that old bastard Dumbledore managed to convince doddering Dippett to let the half-blood stay on as a gamekeeper. It meant Tom wasn’t as free of Hagrid as he’d have liked, but still, he’d had his fun and got his revenge. He had learnt his lesson - feelings, love, caring - those were for fools. He would not make that mistake again.

He would wait patiently. With Dumbledore watching him even more closely following the incident, he dared not risk drawing any further attention to himself while he remained at Hogwarts. But when the time came, he would be cold, calculating, unyielding. He would lead dispassionately, never allowing himself the folly of any kind of attachment or warmth.

One day, he would rule the world, and all would fear to speak his name.

Lord Voldemort.


End file.
